


these are the lies

by itoshin



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Falling In Love, Flirting, Implied/Referenced Sex, James Lovers This Is For You, M/M, Memory Loss, Set during The Masquerade, Simultaneously angst and just dudes being dudes, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:20:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29483589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itoshin/pseuds/itoshin
Summary: He smiles, distracted by how warm his cheeks feel, and leans forward. “Right, I think I get it. So, if I were to say, ‘Lookout for an attractive man sitting across from me,’ would that work?”James’ lips curl upward into a smirk, making Karl’s heart skip a beat. “Across fromme, you say?” He echoes teasingly, meeting Karl’s eyes. “So the answer is you, then.”Karl sputters, face flushed, and engrosses himself by taking a drawn out sip of wine.Sapnap. Quackity. Sapnap and Quackity. Sapnap and Quackity.Karl loses himself in a timeline—and falls in love all over again.The Inbetween doesn’t like that very much.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 19
Kudos: 270





	these are the lies

**Author's Note:**

> JAMES MY BELOVED <3
> 
> keep in mind i do not ship the actual content creators - this is solely based on relationships in canon. also keep in mind there is a mildly nsfw scene in this (more intimate than anything else), but it's not too long! that's really the only reason why this is tagged as mature

There’s something about James that draws Karl in at first sight.

Perhaps it’s the “woeful tale”—divorced, family is gone, business dying, and whatnot. Perhaps it’s how he made Karl laugh almost immediately, though that was likely just because Sir Billiam’s comment of _You’re hard to talk to, aren’t you_ was really quite funny.

Karl’s not entirely sure what it is about James that draws him in, until he hears his laugh. It’s achingly familiar, tugs at his heartstrings in all the right ways.

Briefly, he thinks of a man with dark hair and darker eyes, donning a pure white headband and a wide smile.

Karl’s heart swells in his chest. There’s a part of his brain that whispers _Danger_ to him, but the rest of it pushes them aside. He has to know more—he’s a _time traveler_ , okay, he can’t just go and leave his curiosity unsatisfied.

At least, that’s what he reasons to himself when he approaches James at the bar. It has absolutely nothing to do with how attractive the man is, or how his laugh sounds just like Sapnap’s, absolutely not. That would be a ridiculous idea.

He’s taking a long sip of wine when Karl slides onto the stool next to him, seemingly deep in thought. James jolts at Karl’s sudden appearance, startled out of his thoughts, before relaxing and offering a languid smile.

“Karl,” he greets warmly. “Here for a drink?”

“James,” Karl returns breathlessly, feeling a smile already grow on his face. “I’m not, no. Just wanted to say hi. Enjoying the party so far?”

“Mmm,” James swirls his wine glass around, tilting his head back. “Well, I’m no expert at judging parties, but…there is a certain lack to the amount of guests in such a large establishment.”

Karl raises his hand to gesture Butler over. “But no lack in the amount of wine, right?” He responds cheekily, a pleased grin on his face. “I said I wouldn’t drink, but a little can’t hurt. A glass of wine for me, Butler.”

A glass of wine gets placed next to Karl, and James lets out a laugh. “Now that is certainly true.”

They fall into silence. It’s comfortable, or at least it’s comfortable to _Karl_ , but that could just be because the other man reminds him so much of Sapnap that it’s making him yearn. He grasps for a conversation topic, unsure of where to start.

James suddenly sets his glass down and swivels in his stool to look at Karl. He props his elbow up on the counter and smiles, his expression indecipherable. “Let’s play a game.” He says unprompted, and Karl braces his elbow against the counter as well, mimicking James.

“Let me guess,” Karl grins, “a drinking game.”

James rolls his eyes, taking a sip from his wine as he does so. “Ha ha. I can see where you’re coming from with that,” he scoffs lightheartedly, “but no. I was thinking a game of Lookout.” 

“Lookout?” Karl repeats, tilting his head. “I’ve never heard of that.”

James raises an eyebrow, surprised. “You haven’t? Really?” He pauses, then, and lets out a deprecating laugh. “Well, maybe _I_ only know it because I’m a divorced father.”

Karl immediately panics, reaching over to place a hand on James’ shoulder. “No no no no no,” he comforts hurriedly, “I’m sure that’s not it, no, I literally just, like, live under a rock.” 

_I’m also a time traveler that lives in an era potentially hundreds of years after yours, but I can’t just tell you that one._

James glances at the hand on his shoulder, a little startled. He then smirks, which makes Karl’s breath get caught in his throat, before wrapping his fingers around Karl’s wrist and bringing it off of his shoulder. “Thanks, but you don’t have to comfort me. I’ve gotten used to it.”

Karl moves his hand away sheepishly, feeling his face go warm from embarrassment. “Well—okay, just. Explain it to me? I’m too interested now for you to back out.”

“Alright, alright,” James resigns, putting his hands up in mock surrender. He reaches over to grab his glass, tilting his head back as he takes a long sip. Letting out a satisfied sigh, he places the wine down and smiles. “Basically, you just have to look for something. Anything in this”—he gestures widely to the large ballroom surrounding them—“room. Such as the chandelier. And then you say, ‘lookout for something gold.’” He pauses, and looks at Karl with an amused gaze. “And the other person has to look for what the gold thing is. That make sense?”

Karl tilts his head to the side. _So basically…it’s just like I spy_. He decides not to tell James this, because he doesn’t want to be the one responsible for breaking the man’s heart when he finds out people in the new era don’t call it “Lookout.”

He smiles, distracted by how warm his cheeks feel, and leans forward. “Right, I think I get it. So, if I were to say, ‘Lookout for an attractive man sitting across from me,’ would that work?”

James’ lips curl upward into a smirk, making Karl’s heart skip a beat. “Across from _me_ , you say?” He echoes teasingly, meeting Karl’s gaze. “So the answer is you, then.”

Karl sputters, face flushed, and engrosses himself by taking a drawn out sip of wine. He’s overly aware of how James’ follows the movement, and he’s definitely _way_ too aware of the exposed skin on James’ chest.

_Sapnap. Quackity. Sapnap and Quackity. Sapnap and Quackity._

“Um, n-no,” he laughs out, hiding his face behind his glass. “That wasn’t the answer.”

“No?” James smiles subtly, lifting an eyebrow. He leans backwards, and the lights reflect against his gold jewelry sinfully. “Shame. Well, we can just call that a practice round, alright? My turn. Lookout for…”

Karl tunes out, letting himself catch a breath of air. It’s likely just the atmosphere and the alcohol, he rationalizes. That’s why his face is so incredibly warm.

“Karl?” James prompts gently.

“What? Oh, oh—yes. Um, let me guess…Liaria’s dress?”

“Mmm…Right track, but not quite.”

His heart continues to stutter. _It’s going to be a long night._

* * *

Karl’s never been one for ballroom dancing.

He used to do it, a long time ago. Not recreationally, of course not—but his mother had signed him up for cotillion, so he did it. It was alright, he supposes, now that he thinks back on it. He got to dance with girls in elegant dresses, he got to dress up in a suit and tie, and they always served cookies at the end of each session.

It was nice, but it wasn’t for him. Besides, ballroom dancing never served any purpose once he traveled to Dream’s lands. Why would it? There’s wars every other week, and the only people he’d ever think to dance with would be Quackity and Sapnap, anyway.

And they _definitely_ don’t have the time to spend ballroom dancing.

So when James extends his hand out, face nice and pink from the alcohol, asking for a dance, Karl isn’t even sure how to respond. He stares at James’ hands lamely, his mouth parted slightly, and then points at himself in confusion.

“Yes, you,” James laughs gravelly, “why wouldn’t it be? Come on,” the man looks at him with hooded eyes, “take my hand. It’ll be fun.”

Karl hesitates, his hand hovering just above the other’s. “I dunno, man, I haven’t really danced in a whi—!”

He’s cut off from his words as James grabs his hand and heaves him forward, dragging him towards the ballroom floor.

James pulls Karl close to his chest, hands resting comfortably on his waist. _He wears confidence like a virtue_ , Karl thinks, charmed. His fingers curl into James’ shoulders. _But perhaps it’s just the alcohol speaking._

“Just follow my lead,” James hums with a grin. “You’ll do great.”

“Yeah?” Karl asks challengingly, feeling a smile grace his face. “And what makes you think you’re qualified to lead?”

James’ grin grows wider, his breath tinged with the smell of alcohol. He raises his arm, guiding Karl into a spin. “I had a wife, Karl. You can’t get married without the qualifications of dancing. Duh.”

“Is that so?” Karl asks, an image of Sapnap and Quackity flashing through his mind. He finds himself laughing at the thought of it—how the three of them would dance together, he’s not sure. “Fine, then,” he giggles, following their swaying movements. “I _guess_ I can take your word for it.”

They fit together despairingly well, Karl realizes as they dance. With their chests pressed close, his hands wrapped around James’ neck, the music filling his ears—he finds himself letting go of more. More of _what_ , he’s not entirely sure, but he knows it’s dangerous in the back of his mind nonetheless.

Letting go in this world is dangerous.

He dismisses his worries, though, and flows through the dance floor with James, an enamored smile stuck on his face. He takes the moment to glance around and admire the scenery: gold, glimmering everywhere he looks, jewels and silver flashing and catching his eye. There’s a large amount of people dancing around them, all-smiles and youthful whispers. Masks glisten under the light, the chandelier hangs elegantly, and the mirrors reflect a party full of freedom.

It catches Karl’s breath, all of it—but perhaps not nearly as much as the man in front of him. His smile is a little too much like Sapnap’s, his lax confidence a little too familiar. 

But it’s nice, he decides. It’s really nice. He’d take this over his cotillion classes any day.

“You seem to be deep in thought,” James says lightheartedly. “What happens to be on your mind?”

“Oh, you know,” Karl grins, catching whiff of the smell of grape juice from James’ lips. “Just thinking about how bad your ballroom dancing is.”

James lets out a rough laugh, tightening his grip around Karl’s waist. “Pretty sure that’s my line.”

He guides Karl into a dip as the song reaches its end, the two of them leaning down low. Karl gazes up at the man’s mask, white as pearls, and gives a breathtaking smile. “I’m glad I got to meet you in this world, James.”

A look of mild confusion crosses over James’ face, but he doesn’t even have the time to question it. The lights flicker off suddenly, the music coming to an abrupt stop. There’s the sound of a screeching violin, then there’s a scream, and then the sound of chaos.

Karl pulls James in closer into a hug, not wanting to lose the other man in the dark. “James?” he asks loudly, nervously, even though he knows that he couldn’t have disappeared _that_ quickly.

“I’m here,” he reassures, his voice firm. “I’m here.”

Someone cries out about the smell of blood, and the crowd panics further. Karl swallows, a wrenching feeling in his gut. It’s a feeling he’s encountered over, and over, and _over_ again—he knows this instinct.

Danger.

The Inbetween doesn’t like danger.

By now, he feels like he’s supposed to have been sucked away by now. Never to see this era again, never see James again, nor Liaria, Drew, the Butler, Sir Billiam, all of them—only left to write their names in his journal and pretend he remembers.

But he’s still here. And that, he secretly knows, is dangerous.

“James?” He asks again, voice quieter. It’s timid, almost unsure. “Do you want to get out of here?”

There’s an unspoken ‘together’ in there, one he doesn’t dare to say outright.

It’s hard to make out in the dark, but Karl can see James raise a hand to his face, taking off his mask. He glances around at the broken lights, stares at the spilled wine barrels. Then he looks back at Karl and reaches down to get a solid grip on his wrist. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Yeah?” Karl asks with a faint smile, despite the situation. “So did the murder sober you up enough to drive?”

* * *

They agree to stay at James’ house without ever having to say it out-loud. Convenient for Karl, of course, because he’s unsure of how he would explain that he doesn’t _have_ a house in this place anyway despite being “incredibly rich.” It’s also inconvenient, because he’s getting increasingly more distraught at how connected he feels with James.

Realistically, they shouldn’t be, and he knows this. Fates never work out so…so _in his favor_. But another part of him knows it to be true: James and Sapnap are connected, in some way, shape, or form.

And it tears at his heart in the best and worst ways possible.

“We’re here,” James says gently, pulling the car to a stop. “Sorry, it’s…probably a little messy inside the house. There’s, uh. Quite a few bottles lying around.”

Karl shakes his head, offering James a smile. “That’s okay! Thank you for…um, letting me come over.” He quickly gets out of the car, not wanting to have to stay in the car with James for much longer. The tension is a little _too_ thick for him, and that’s not something he wants to have to think about.

Waiting for James to lock it, Karl stands back to admire the car. It’s old-fashioned, terribly so, but he knows that for this day and age, it’s a _rich_ car. The house shouts “I’M RICH” as well, which isn’t exactly a surprise. There’s evidently a reason why James had been invited to Sir Billiam’s Very-Rich-People Party.

James slams the driver’s door shut, the car locking with a beep. He shakes his head, mussing up thick hair. They walk together up to the large, intricate door in silence, a hand resting lightly on Karl’s shoulder. Karl wishes his mind didn’t seek the touch as much as it does.

“Again,” James chuckles sheepishly, key twisted into the keyhole. Karl glances over at him curiously. “Don’t mind the mess.”

Karl shakes his head in a way that says _Don’t worry about it_ , and James shrugs an _Okay, I told you so_ , then pulls the door open.

He immediately notes upon entering that it’s not even messy, though perhaps that’s only because it’s just the entryway. Karl steps in and admires the scenery, an awed smile gracing his lips. The floor is made of white marble, the walls beige and striped. It’s dimly lit, with incandescent lamps scattered down the hallway. It smells faintly like champagne, he notices, but makes no comment on it. He doesn’t particularly want to ask if it’s because of an air freshener James uses or the amount of alcohol he drinks.

“Well, uh, welcome to my home,” James laughs nervously, giving a grandiose sweep of his hand. “Population: one.”

Karl smiles mischievously, taking James’ hand and dragging him down the long hallway. “You mean population: two, now.”

“Yeah?” James asks without a beat of hesitance, returning the smile. “Okay, then.” He takes the lead then, now being the one to pull Karl along. “Let me show you around.”

They take their time exploring the house. James shows him the living room, cluttered with empty beer bottles and wine glasses. Something in Karl’s chest contorts at the sight, but he knows it’s not his place to say anything about it. Instead he grips James’ forearm tighter, and follows him to the next room. 

The kitchen is moderately sized. There’s piles upon piles of dishes stacked up; to which Karl nudges James cheekily at the sight, and the other man mutters _Shut up, I’ll get to it_.

Karl spends his time examining every corner of James’ office, poking at every endearing detail he can find. (“You like collectable figurines, huh?” Karl asks with a grin. “Verrrry interesting collection you have here. This one’s a little revealing, isn’t it?” James goes red in the face and gently shoves him out of the room.)

There’s signs, Karl notices along the way, of human activity from months ago. There’s some pencil on the wall, evidently done by a child. An untouched teddy bear rests on the couch in the living room. A near-empty perfume bottle on the bathroom vanity.

And it’s lonely. The house is lonely. It may be filled with halls and bedrooms, mirrors and photos, flowers and bottles, but it’s lonely.

So on that night, when James leads Karl into a guest bedroom and kindly tells him to get some rest, Karl makes a vow to himself. 

_I’ll make sure you’re not lonely anymore._

* * *

“So…how much of a cook are you? Because if you’re going to be staying here a while, I need to make sure I am _not_ cooking every day.” James asks the next morning, a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Oh, you know,” Karl says casually, flipping through the pages of the newspaper left on the counter. “I _can_ make a killer batch of eggs.”

He seems somewhat taken aback by Karl’s words, tilting his head to the side. 

_Oops._ Karl’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as he comes to a realization. _Maybe “killer” hasn’t been introduced into this era’s slang quite yet._

The man seems to get the gist of it well enough, at least. He leans across the kitchen island and smiles invitingly at Karl, one eyebrow cocked upward. “Yeah?” he draws out, and Karl finds his stomach doing more and more dives each time he does that. “Okay then, pretty boy,”—Karl inhales abruptly, setting the magazine down—“go on and show me your ‘killer batch of eggs’ then, won’t you?”

“Christ,” Karl all but laughs out, hiding his flushed cheeks behind his hand. James leans back to assess his victory, smug and proud. “I’m so honked.”

* * *

“Goin’ to get some coffee. You want to come with?”

Karl perks his head up, pushing himself into a sitting position from where he’d been lying on the couch. “You goin’ into town?” he asks, drooping himself against the edge.

“Yes’sir,” James affirms, twirling the house keys around his finger. Karl takes the time to appreciate the man’s outfit—more specifically, his button-up shirt with the top two buttons left hanging. He smirks, leaning against the wall. “You’re staring, Jacobs. Not that I mind, but if you want to admire me even more…” James rattles the keys like how one would jingle a bell to a cat. “Then maybe you’d want to come with me.”

Karl rolls his eyes, but he’s already rolling out of the couch before a quip could even come out. “I’m only staring because you look hideous, nimrod. And I’m only coming to save you from the mortal embarrassment of all the stares you shall be receiving.”

“Uh-huh,” James agrees amusedly, hooking his arm around Karl’s. “I’m sure that’s why.”

The drive to the town is filled with James’ loud, off-tune singing, which vaguely reminds Karl of someone. Who, he can’t remember, but it’s nice. It makes him feel so strangely at home.

It’s only been three days since the ball. Since Karl unofficially decided to move in with James—a man who _should_ be a stranger—and since James unofficially agreed to it. They haven’t talked about it, nor do they want to.

If they just want to hold hands over the console while singing; make flirtatious comments without acting upon them; greet each other every morning with eggs or waffles; laugh and chase each other down the halls of the house, and _not_ have to talk about it…Well, it’s not like they’re hurting anyone.

When they get their coffee, they take a long stroll through the town. Their pinkies are interlocked, hidden behind the sleeves of their shirts. James’ laugh is loud and pristine, and he leans into Karl’s side and points out different parts of the city.

_Yeah_ , Karl thinks, breathlessly enamored. James’ thumb rubs over Karl’s hand as he guides him down the street, gliding over two meaningless rings. _We’re doing just fine_.

* * *

There’s less bottles in the house, now. It’s cleaner, more organized. More books start filling up the shelves, and there’s a llama figurine that stands and greets at the entryway. Eventually, a panda one joins too. The dishes no longer pile up in the kitchen sink, but there’s always a loitering coffee mug somewhere to be found inside the house. Ugly sweaters are tossed haphazardly onto the armrests of chairs; and slowly, a collection of headbands has been gathering.

The pictures of a particular woman have been carefully placed away. Karl has drawn a heart with a swirl in the middle on the wall.

It’s not lonely anymore.

* * *

They’ve been drinking for a while, now.

Karl’s not much of a drinker, never has been. But when James had shown up so excited, picked Karl up and twirled him around merrily and told him that tonight they were celebrating, Karl couldn’t say no.

“So?” Karl prompts with a smile, resting his elbow comfortably against the table. He’s on his third glass of champagne, he’s pretty sure. What he’s not sure of is when he’s going to stop. “What’s the exciting news you’ve been waiting to tell me?”

James’ eyes brighten and he snaps his fingers. He leans forward to set the glass down and crosses his legs. “I got a promotion.” Karl shifts, perking up at the news. “Not just a small one, either. Senior executive assistant.”

“Seriously?” Karl asks excitedly, leaning forward. “Holy shit, James, that’s—that’s great!” He places his own glass down. There’s a swelling feeling in his chest; pride, affection, he’s not sure, but it feels so, so warm. “I’m so happy for you—seriously, what the honk, that’s super big.”

“I know,” James laughs, breathless. “I know. I’m—I’m super glad. I…” He reaches forward to grab his champagne flute, taking a sip from it. He exhales, slowly. “I’m really happy. Two months ago, I felt so…shitty, really. So fuckin’ lonely. But”—his eyes flitter to meet Karl’s—“then I met you. And you’ve changed me, Jacobs.” He smiles, genuine. “You’ve changed my life and I’m so grateful for it.”

Karl’s breath catches in his throat. He starts to giggle, blaming it on the alcohol in his system. “You’re so cheesy, James, oh my God. I…” He quiets down, curling his fingers into his sweater in contentment. “I’m glad, too. Thank you for—for giving me a home.”

James lets out a soft _fuck_ , which makes Karl tilt his head. “What? Did I say somethin’ wrong?” He asks a little warily.

“No, no of course not,” James reassures quickly, eyes widening. “God, no, of course not. You’re perfect. Karl, you’re—you’re perfect.” His gaze flickers from a pair of eyes to lips. “It’s just that I want to kiss you so goddamn bad.”

_Oh_.

“Oh,” Karl says. He scrambles to find the words, his mouth opening and closing lame. “I—I, um. Shit, yes, please.” The smile that grows on James’ face makes his chest practically explode. “ _Please_.”

That’s all that it takes. James hastily leans across the table, taking a fistful of the collar of Karl’s sweater. The champagne glasses fall to the carpet, but neither find themselves concerned about it. Their lips meet, and it feels so achingly familiar to Karl. He’s unsure about why, given that he knows this is the first time they’ve kissed; but he can’t be bothered enough to expend the time thinking about it. Not when James is in his space, pressing against him, tasting like champagne and smelling of pine candles.

They spend a long time there, just the two of them. The world is quiet around them. Quiet breaths fill the silence, fingers roam across skin, and the champagne continues to trickle.

“Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?” James asks softly, his lips pressed against the curve of Karl’s neck.

Karl is panting quietly, face flushed. He’s sitting comfortably in the other man’s lap, and he distantly thinks about how he doesn’t want to get up. His heart beats erratically at James’ words, but he knows. He knows what James is asking. He knows, and he wants it. Karl curls his fingers into James’ hair and leans forward, pressing his forehead against James’.

“Yes,” he murmurs, “I do.”

It takes a while, perhaps a little too long, but they do make it to James’ room. Karl finds himself lying down on it almost immediately, splaying himself out for display. James leans over him, eyes dark.

The other man kisses him once more, slowly, leisurely. He takes his time, his hands gently holding Karl’s face. It’s painfully intimate; too intimate, perhaps, and they both recognize it.

A finger taps Karl’s pulse on his wrist. He lets out a quiet sound of acknowledgment, turning his head to look at where his hand is pinned.

“…These two rings,” James begins hesitantly, moving his line of sight from the accessories to Karl’s face. There’s no frustration, just pure, genuine curiosity. He rubs his thumb against the rings. “Do they mean anything to you?”

There’s a flash in Karl’s mind. Two figures stand in front of him, but their faces are etched out. He can’t see them, nor does he recognize them. It’s brief, but it lasts in Karl’s mind.

It takes him a while to respond, but James is patient. “If they do,” Karl eventually settles on, “I don’t remember.”

James smiles and leans back down to kiss Karl senseless. As he does, he slowly slides the rings off Karl’s fingers.

They get lost in each other. The rings get lost in the bedsheets. There’s love, and there’s grief.

* * *

Karl is in white.

This should be right, he knows, because James’ sheets are white as snow. 

But there’s too _much_ white. He also knows there’s a problem because he’s _clothed_ , as embarrassing as it is to think about.

Karl glances around him, glances down at his white and grey hoodie, and has a sickening realization that he _does_ recall this place. He came here a long time ago; perhaps too long ago.

“…No,” he whispers. “No no no no no.” He takes several steps backwards, head pounding. “Why am I back here? Where is he? Where—James? Please, no,” he’s pleading, sinking to his knees. “Please. It can’t just end like this.”

There’s a book lying not too far away from him. It’s propped open, like someone had already been there. Slowly, Karl reaches over and grabs the book, hands trembling.

_You strayed from the path. You strayed from the path. You strayed from the path. You strayed from the path. You strayed from the path. You strayed from the path._

He flips through the pages desperately, looking for something other than just that mantra, but it’s to no avail. His vision shakes and his headache only continues to grow. He reaches the last page, and stares at it numbly.

_You strayed from the path,_

_and you will have to pay the consequences._

The world goes blank.

* * *

“Oh my God, is he awake?”

“Oh shit, Quackity—I saw him stir! I think he’s waking up!”

It’s a little too bright for Karl’s liking. He lets out a groan, his arm going up to shield his eyes from the light.

“Karl, you asshat, wake up!” It’s lighthearted, but concern is evident in the man’s voice. Something gently shakes him. “Wake the fuck up!”

He groans again, rubbing at his eyes. He slowly opens them and feels his heart drop.

There’s two men standing by him. One wears a beanie and a loose-collared shirt. There’s a scar stretching from his mouth to his left eye—making for a somewhat intimidating sight. The other’s hair is black and wavy, the white headband being of no use. There’s a flame imprinted on his shirt. Both, Karl vaguely registers, have two rings on their finger.

“James…?” he whispers, reaching up to cup Headband Man’s cheek. “Where are we?”

There’s silence from both men. There’s a thumb caressing Karl’s hand. “Karl…?” the man asks, seemingly scared of _something_. “Where did our rings go?”

Karl’s brow furrows in confusion. He blinks once more, reassessing, then retracts his hand upon realizing this man _isn’t_ James.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammers, “I mistook you for someone else.” He tilts his head to the side. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you guys are?”

**Author's Note:**

> james my beloved...
> 
> anyway thank you for reading! forever i will miss James No Last Name


End file.
